


Touch Therapy, Winchester Style

by Callisto



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s04e06 Yellow Fever, Fever, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-29
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After "Yellow Fever," Dean gets the occasional ghost-sickness relapse...</p><p><i>“Sam, no. Please. I am not a sixteen-year-old girl.”</i></p><p><i>“Yeah, but I am, remember? Come on. Man up and let me cuddle you. I promise, only this once and we’ll never talk of it. Like, ever.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Therapy, Winchester Style

The gap between attacks/episodes/outbreaks (Sam still hasn’t found a word he can say without Dean smacking him) is getting longer, so Sam really can’t be blamed for not realizing. And it’s not as if the man himself ever gives out any kind of verbal clues. So it’s not until Dean jumps–physically _jumps_ –when Sam leans in the driver’s window to tell him they’re out of hot sauce that Sam registers his brother, all pale and slouchy and wearing sunglasses in November.

“Uh, Dean? You okay?”

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be? Quit shouting and get the fuck in.”

Dean scowls at Sam and oncoming traffic for the next two hours, drives music free and within the speed limit, _and_ looks both ways before he crosses the road when they finally stop.

Sam takes a deep breath and figures he’d better gear up.

“Thought we’d eat in tonight.” He waves the takeout at his brother, not missing the way Dean’s whole body tensed and then relaxed on the bed when Sam stepped in. Sam turns and locks the door behind him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He notices the salt lines are thick and already in place, and that every single light is on – even the one in the bathroom.

He bites his lip, wonders how long the elephant in the room is going to sit there.

“Here.” He walks over and hands Dean his burger.

Dean sits up, winces, and sets the grease-stained sack down on the floor. “Thanks. I’ll uh, have it later.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam draws himself up, resists the urge to sit on his brother until he squeals. He puts his hands on his hips instead. “You know, you could just say something, Dean.”

“Nothing to say, Sammy. Jesus. I’m not hungry, okay? Can’t a guy not be hungry?”

“A guy can, yes. You…”

“Ha ha. Look, it’s—dude, what the fuck’re you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m getting on the bed with you. Move.”

Because yeah, denial may be river deep in Dean land, but Sam is now officially out of patience and the elephant can take a hike.

Dean lets himself be shunted over with this mock-affronted glare Sam doesn’t buy for a second. Sam eats his burger to the occasional dark mutter from his right, but he’s only too aware of Dean’s shoulder pressing tightly against his as they watch some English dude cook up a storm on cable.

“Thirsty?”

“No.” Said with all the sulk and venom only a put-upon Dean can ever manage.

“Tough. Drink this and take these.”

Sam hands him an orange juice. And the sleeping pills they always use.

A muscle jumps along Dean’s jaw as a flush creeps across his cheek, and Sam’s heart softens instantly.

“Dean,” he says quietly. “It’ll be okay. I’ll stay right here.”

“Shut up. I don’t want you to stay right here. Fuckin’ Sasquatch.” But it’s a half-hearted mumble, said around Dean taking the pills from Sam’s palm and washing them down with the juice.

Once that’s over and they’re both pretending fascination with something called bangers and mash, Sam steels himself for the next part.

As expected, Dean flinches a mile high when Sam slides his right arm around Dean’s shoulders. Sam tries not to take it personally.

“Relax.”

“Relax? _Relax?_ What the hell are you doing?”

Sam can hear Dean doing the flared-nostril thing, counting to ten maybe as he gets pissed and steadies his breathing to throw a punch or two. Not that Sam minds. He’d rather have Dean pissed than freaked. He says nothing, though. Just tightens his grip and keeps his gaze resolutely on the young guy invading a school cafeteria with nothing but contempt and a spatula.

“I may be a jumpy friggin’ mess till sunrise, but you are NOT cuddling me through this, Sam.” A wriggle starts up. “Off. Me. Now. Or I swear I’ll…” He full-on struggles, but Sam can feel the heat of a fever starting up, so he’s having none of it.

“Dean, stop. You’ve already started getting sick, so just sit here and watch this weird guy with me.”

“Sam, no. Please. I am not a sixteen-year-old girl.”

“Yeah, but I am, remember? Come on. Man up and let me cuddle you. I promise, only this once and we’ll never talk of it. Like, ever.”

Miraculously, Dean stops struggling. He pulls back enough to nail Sam in a laser-like stare. “You are a freak, Samuel Winchester, you know that? Jesus. I can’t believe we’re even—

A car backfires and Sam suddenly has an armful of brother, face pressed into his right shoulder, arms shaking and clenched around his ribs. Sam breathes in through the shock and doesn’t say anything; nothing mocking, nothing comforting. Just gives Dean the time he needs to get his jackrabbiting heart under some kind of control. A few minutes pass and then Dean shivers, the chills clearly starting to bite.

“I fucking hate this.”

Said muffled into Sam’s shirt and Sam tightens his grip. He risks a kiss to the top of Dean’s head. “I know,” he says quietly.

There’s silence a while longer. Then Dean’s head comes up. “Did you just kiss my hair?”

Sam smiles. “Like I would kiss that sweaty mop.”

“Well… Whatever.” Dean’s arm eases its grip from Sam’s ribs, but his head goes back on Sam’s shoulder, so Sam counts it as a win.

Another shiver, a full body one this time, and Sam tugs the comforter up. He wonders how much he’s going to get away with. He hates that Dean goes through this, he truly does. But man, he likes being the older brother once in a while.

“Dude. Is that...? Why is that dick throwing pizzas away? And those kids are _smiling_ at him? Man, that is fucked up.”

Sam eases them down on the bed a little more. Apparently, as long as some goofball Brit is making pizza mountains in schoolyards, he’s getting away with plenty.

******


End file.
